


and autumn reached for her golden crown

by halfmoonsevenstars



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Total Fluff, semi-porny idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmoonsevenstars/pseuds/halfmoonsevenstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could always wait ‘til we get home,” Bucky suggests, even though he doesn’t mean it in the slightest and knows that Steve knows he doesn’t mean it in the slightest, either. </p><p>“Maybe I don’t want to wait ‘til we get home.” Steve doesn’t even bother to look around to see if anyone new has come in, or if the projectionist is watching instead of getting the next reel ready to feed into the machine, before he expertly flicks open the button at the waistband of Bucky’s trousers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and autumn reached for her golden crown

The best thing about his job—and there aren’t many good things about it, given that Bucky makes minimum wage busting his ass working double shifts on an assembly line while some old rich fart yells at them over the loudspeaker—is that he does at least get two days in a row off, if he isn’t scheduling himself for overtime. The catch is, though, that his days off tend to be during the week, which is lousy when Bucky wants to go out dancing. The upside is that they’re pretty great for going to the movies, because there’s never anyone at the theater to bug him by kicking the back of his seat or talking through  the picture, what with most people at work (or, more realistically, looking for work, if he wants to get technical about it) or in school.

He happens to have off on one of those hot, sticky early September days that feels like it’s never going to end, even if they _do_ get the big thunderstorm that the radio’s been talking about, because it won’t do anything but make the weather hotter and stickier once it’s over with. So Bucky really does have to get Steve out of the apartment, because they’re on the fourth floor and all they’ve got to combat the heat is one ancient fan inherited from Steve’s ma. It’s an asthma attack waiting to happen, especially with all the smog hanging around, and the movie theater is cool and dark and gives free refills on fountain sodas, besides. It doesn’t take a whole lot to get Steve to agree to come with Bucky, even though it means he’s going to really have to scramble tomorrow to meet deadline. Steve puts up the usual argument about how it’s important to turn in work early so the WPA will remember it and hire him back for the next freelance job, and they really shouldn’t spend the money, and they have errands to run. But they both know that his protests are completely perfunctory, because he caves within all of two minutes.

Bucky’s vindicated by that small victory nonetheless when Steve glances over at him as the projectionist is setting up the cartoons and says, “I’m glad we did this.” He speaks in a low voice, even though they’re the only ones in the theater, because it’s Wednesday morning.

“So am I,” Bucky answers, even though he _could_ be a jerk and say _I told you so_.

“It’s been a while since we went to the movies together,” Steve muses. “When was the last time?”

“Um.” He has to think about it for a while. “The Robin Hood movie, I think. Errol Flynn and Olivia what’s her face.”

“I thought that was Joan Fontaine.”

“No, that’s her sister,” Bucky says, because he might borrow _Photoplay_ from the switchboard girl from time to time, not that he’d ever admit that to Steve.

Steve gives him one of his _looks_ , but says nothing, contemplatively slurping on his Coke instead. “You’re sure this isn’t putting us out for much?” he asks after a minute.

“Nah. I’ve got some cash socked away just in case. Anyway, it’s only a dollar all told, even with the bus fare,” Bucky tells him. “That’s not gonna make or break us either way, and besides, what’s the point of us working so much if we never get to have any fun on our days off?”

“Isn’t this the same line you use on me when you want to drag me out dancing?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve says, trying to look stern, but there’s a smile playing around the corners of his mouth and spoiling the effect. “Although it usually involves more begging.”

“I do not _beg_ ,” Bucky answers, feigning indignation.

“Funny, that’s not how I remember things.” His hand seems to have drifted from the armrest to Bucky’s knee, somehow, and Steve looks up at Bucky, his hair falling into his eyes. Bucky resists—but only just barely—the urge to brush it back off his forehead.

“And just how _do_ you remember them?” he wants to know, and his voice cracks a little when Bucky asks, but luckily the cartoon’s started up and hopefully it’s loud enough to mask that, to keep this game going a little bit longer.

Steve finally allows himself to smile for real, and it ought to be illegal, Bucky thinks, because he’s so gorgeous doing it. “I s’pose I could show you.”

“Oh yeah?”

Steve’s hand slides up Bucky’s leg until it’s almost at his hip. “Mhm, yeah, I think so. Since you’re having so much trouble with your memory and all.”

“We could always wait ‘til we get home,” Bucky suggests, even though he doesn’t mean it in the slightest and knows that Steve knows he doesn’t mean it in the slightest, either.

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to wait ‘til we get home.” Steve doesn’t even bother to look around to see if anyone new has come in, or if the projectionist is watching instead of getting the next reel ready to feed into the machine, before he expertly flicks open the button at the waistband of Bucky’s trousers.

“I didn’t know you liked air conditioning that much,” Bucky says.

“Sure I like it.”

“As much as you like me?” he teases.

Steve makes short work of the zipper, but he pretends to think about his answer. “Huh. I’d say you’re about on par with each other.”

 “Well, air conditioning _is_ pretty great.” Bucky has no idea how he’s still able to form coherent sentences, given that Steve’s now got his hand resting on the front of Bucky’s shorts. It’s probably beyond blasphemous to thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints for that, but he does anyway, silently, because it's fantastic and absolutely worth going to hell for. If his trousers had stayed fastened one more second, he might’ve ripped clean through them, because he’s getting harder by the minute.

“You’re not planning on talking the whole time, are you?” Steve asks him, grinning. “Because if you are, I’m gonna call the usher and have you kicked out.”

“N-no.” And there goes his ability to use multisyllabic words, because Steve plunges his hand _inside_ Bucky’s shorts, and no matter how many times he does that, it’s always fucking _amazing_. Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, even if they’ve never done it anywhere so public before.

“Good. Shut up already, then,” Steve tells him, but sweetly, and he punctuates it with a kiss; this time he _does_ look to make sure nobody’s around first, because it’s a lot easier to hide what he’s doing with his hand than it is to hide a kiss, even in the back row.

Bucky complies, not because he thinks Steve will actually stop if he doesn’t, but because it’s hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of those fingers—impossibly large and strong for someone of Steve’s size—on his cock. Steve takes his hand away for just a moment in order to spit in it, and Bucky suppresses the urge to whine at him, even though he knows it’s only for their benefit that Steve’s doing this. Instead, he settles back into the seat as if he’s watching the cartoon, although Bucky certainly isn’t paying any attention to it.

“Very good,” Steve breathes into his ear, and suddenly Bucky’s in doubt as to his ability to contain himself for long.

His worries about that are quite unfounded, however, as neither of them notices when the cartoon changes over to the main feature.

“Good thing we got extra napkins with the popcorn, isn’t it?” is all he can think to say afterwards, once Bucky’s put back together again, and Steve cracks up. The usher, who’s finally decided to stop in and amble down the aisle to check on the patrons—all two of them—passes them and smiles in approval, as apparently Kate Hepburn’s on screen doing something amusing with a cheetah, but all Bucky wants to look at is Steve.

“You should let me do this next time,” Bucky tells him.

“What, and let you have all the fun?” Steve asks.

“Never.” Bucky has to wait until the usher is gone again before it’s his turn to give Steve a kiss, and he makes it last as long as it can before Steve has to come up for air before he passes out or has an asthma attack, whichever comes first. “Love you, jerk,” he murmurs.

Steve rewards him with another one of his brilliant sunshine smiles. “Love you too, punk. Wanna catch the afternoon showing?”

Of course he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nick Drake's "Time of No Reply." The song has nothing to do with the story, but I like it.
> 
> Also, the summary for this was almost "Jackie was sad so I wrote her a movie theater handjob, sort of." And now you know why I don't actually ever write summaries.


End file.
